


15x04 Coda

by beefcakemish



Series: Misc. Drabbles [29]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Coda, Established Relationship, M/M, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 20:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beefcakemish/pseuds/beefcakemish
Summary: My thoughts on what happened after 15x04. Dean can't even mention Cas' name. Sam knows something is up. Dean hits a low point.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Misc. Drabbles [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1203301
Comments: 7
Kudos: 89





	15x04 Coda

“You sure you should finish the drive home, Dean?”

Dean pauses as he brings the burger up to his mouth, and looks across the booth at Sam. “What do you mean ‘are you sure you should drive’? I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you drive.”

Sam furrows his brow, tossing a disappointed look at Dean.

“I know you’ve been drinking. Like all day, Dean.”

“I drink all the time. A handful of sips is nothin’ to freak out about Sammy. I’m a grown man.”

Rolling his eyes when Dean flashes that shit-eating grin, Sam stabs his fork back down in the salad in front of him, watching in mild horror as Dean bites off a quarter of his burger in one bite.

“Dean –“ Sam starts, shaking his head and dropping his gaze back to his plate.

“Spit it out, Sam. I could hear the gears turning in your head since we crossed the state line.” Dean sets down his burger, grabbing a napkin to wipe at the stray ketchup and mayonnaise at the corners of his mouth.

“Does this have anything to do with Cas leaving the other day?”

The grin on his face disappears the moment Sam mentions Ca- mentions **_him_**.

“’Course not. You know as well as I do, dude’s free to do what he wants. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s taken off.”

Dean picks at the remaining fries on his plate before shoving it to the side and grabbing the coke he spiked with whiskey when the waitress wasn’t looking.

“I just kind of thought that after everything that’s happened the past couple of weeks, he might stick around for a bit. Losing Jack, Rowena, finding out about Chuck…”

“Yeah, well you thought wrong, didn’t you?” Dean snaps, sending Sam a look so he knows the conversation is over.

Despite the heart-to-heart they had before they stopped for dinner, the rest of the ride back to the bunker is spent in virtual silence. Only the same eight Zeppelin songs keep the tension from spilling over.

* * *

As soon as he hits the lock on the impala’s door, Dean ambles through the hallways to the kitchen. He grabs a half-full bottle of some off-brand scotch, ignoring Sam’s watchful eye as he passes in front of him and ducks into his room, flipping the lock on the door when it clicks shut.

Once inside he leans back on the closed door letting his head drop back in a small _thunk _on the wood. His eyes slip closed as he unscrews the cap off of the bottle and brings it up to take a swig. One turns into two; two turns into three. After a couple of deep breaths, he opens his eyes, and feels a sharp pain in his chest as his eyes fall on the bed.

The covers are still pulled back on Cas’ side from the night before everything went wrong. He’d tried sleeping in here that night but there was too much space, the bed was uncomfortable, he shivered for the entire few hours he tossed and turned, cold without the extra body next to him. When it was clear he’d be getting no sleep in his room, he headed down to his little cave, leaning back in a recliner until exhaustion caught up to him. He’s stayed in there ever since that night.

Walking to his side of the bed, Dean drops down on the edge of the mattress, bottle dangling from his hands where they rest between his knees, hunched over, head dropped in defeat.

Another one, two, three swigs, and he winces at the burn as the liquor slides down his throat.

_Something always goes wrong, Dean. Yeah? Why does that something always seem to be you?_

_You and Sam have each other._

_I think it’s time I move on._

Remembering everything from that night, everything they said to each other, everything Dean said to drive Cas away cuts into him more than he’ll ever admit to.

_It’s your fault he’s not here, you sorry son-of-a-bitch. You never deserved to have him here anyway. It’s a god-damn miracle he managed to stay around as long as he did._

Dean lets out a huff of laughter, or maybe it’s half of a sob, he can’t tell the difference right now.

Another one, two, three swigs from the bottle and he’s slumped forward onto his knees. Setting the bottle on the floor next to him, he lifts his head up to look at the ceiling. He settles back on his heels as he closes his eyes to stop the slight spin of the room. Five minutes later, or maybe five days, he’s not sure, as the suffocating silence seems to hide all passing of time, he starts to pray. Or, at least, that’s what he’s intending to do.

_I’m sorry, Cas. I need you back here, man._

_I know I messed up, but I need you._

_I can’t do this without you._

_I love you._

His vision is blurry when he opens his eyes again, and Dean hastily wipes the moisture away. As he stands, his knees pop and crack, clearly objecting to being on the solid ground for as long as they were. He barely has energy enough to kick off his boots before climbing on top of the mattress, facing the empty side of the bed. Dean reaches out, pulling Cas’ pillow to his chest, inhaling the clean, crisp, scent he’s come to associate with Cas.

* * *

Two states over, Cas is pulled over on the side of the road, heart beating wildy in his chest as he tries to calm himself. The tears keep slowly falling, no matter how many times he’s tried to will them to stop.

_I’m sorry, Cas._

_I need you._

_I can’t do this without you._

_I love you_.

Cas closes his eyes tightly and tilts his head back toward the roof of the car. He replays the voice over and over in his head until he’s committed the cadence of the words, the tone of them, every slight stutter, or hitched breath, to his memory. He whispers into the cool air around him, “I love you too, Dean. I’m so sorry.”, allowing himself another moment or two before turning the key in the ignition and putting more and more miles between him and the warm safety of the bunker, between he and his home.


End file.
